


NFWMB

by QTCutie (Qtcutie)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Also kind of, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, fake/pretend past-relationship, first chapter stands on its own, interesting. to write., kind of?, second chapter is just smut, this was
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qtcutie/pseuds/QTCutie
Summary: Ichigo's date goes south, and he gets assistance from an unexpected source.
Relationships: Hirako Shinji/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 181
Collections: ShinIchi Weekend 2020





	NFWMB

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirason/gifts), [yaponsko2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaponsko2/gifts).



> This hits a couple prompts actually:  
> “I will kill anyone that looks at you the way I look at you.”  
> Alias, false identity, “I’m not who (or what) I say I am.”  
> (Chapter 2 hits the other two days uwu)  
> Ty to boop for the prompt and Ru for egging me on, and Boop for being a wonderful Beta uwu  
> Blessed art by Ru (@yaponsko2 on tumblr)

Ichigo didn’t actually think it was going to come to this. 

He’s not sure what the actual etiquette for “bail me out” texts is supposed to be, but he’s pretty sure that by date three it’s not supposed to be necessary anymore. And Ichigo clearly had a lot of hope for this guy, clearly, because this is the first blind date in about six months that’s actually made it to date three. But Aoyama starts talking about ‘deep web’ and ‘fake science’, and Ichigo actually hates how he’s able to text Urahara, his phone under the bar, without even looking down. 

Ichigo has been plenty lucky in plenty of things in his life, okay? Just. Not his love life. 

He wonders idly while sipping at his drink and pushing the edamame around in its bowl, if Aoyama can tell how tepid the mood has gotten, or if he really thinks he’s being interesting by monopolizing the conversation. Ichigo has never been particularly good at hiding his boredom, but he literally couldn’t make his disinterest any more obvious if he pulled his phone up onto the bartop and started trolling through Pinterest boards to see if he can find any Chappy pictures Rukia hasn’t seen before. 

At least the food is already paid for, Ichigo muses. And Aoyama was gentlemanly enough to pay the bill. The drinks aren’t bad either-- this isn’t the kind of bar Ichigo would patronize of his own free will, honestly, but it’s-- decent. A little on the sleazy side, but the music is low and the lighting is... tasteful? Even if the bar top is sticky and the bartender looks like she wants to be literally anywhere else. 

Oh, Aoyama is getting _really_ into it now. Like, full tinfoil hat conspiracy into it. Ichigo’s phone buzzes, and he doesn’t even hesitate to whip it out-- he and Urahara have rehearsed a couple convenient skits, such as “the girls are sick” and “Tessai lit the kitchen on fire and we need you to pick up food” and “Yoruichi has been hit by a car”. Emergency-level shit. Ichigo needs to leave right away, very sorry, it was a lovely night, Ichigo definitely isn’t going to block his date’s number the moment he’s in the clear.

_From: ShinShin_

_wtf are you doing at Cádiz?_

_From: ShinShin_

_“bail” as in date or “bail” as in jail?_

_From: ShinShin_

_actually, don’t answer that. be there in a minute._

Ichigo can only stare at his phone for a long moment, not fully comprehending, because-- there is Yuzu, with a little lemon emoji next to her name. And _there_ is Geta-boshi, and. Shinji must’ve been right in between them. Except, now Shinji’s at the top of the message app, because.

No, it’s alright, Ichigo thinks as Aoyama slides forward in his chair, resting a hand on top of Ichigo’s. Shinji’s on the way, and seems down to help Ichigo out, and that’s really all that matters at this point. 

A salted-sweet scent and a brush of reiatsu-- confused, concerned, playful, cut with something like dark and bitter chocolate, Hollow instincts so close to the surface that Ichigo feels the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end-- is the most warning Ichigo gets before arms slip over his shoulder, a solid weight against his back. Shinji’s voice is a low burr, a warm, dark rumble that Ichigo can feel across his back.

“What do we have here?”

Aoyama looks like a deer in the headlights-- wide eyes, pale face, lips a little parted. Which. Ichigo kinda gets, Shinji is heart-stoppingly attractive on a bad day. A little heavy, though, and his breath fans out warm and soft over the top of Ichigo’s ear, and when Ichigo reaches up to push at his arm an over-warm hand settles over the column of Ichigo’s throat, and it’s _Ichigo’s_ turn to freeze up like stalked prey. 

“Who are you?” Aoyama demands, and, oh, Ichigo knows _that_ tone of voice. Jealousy, sour with a violent edge, and Ichigo opens his mouth to nip this conflict at the bud.

“He’s my--” 

Alright, Ichigo, first thing that pops into your head.

“-- ex.”

Ok-ay, maybe should have gone with the _second_ thing that popped into his head. Because Aoyama draws himself up to his full height, looking Shinji up and down like Shinji’s judged and found wanting. Shinji, for his part, curls impossibly closer, hand on Ichigo’s throat tightening ever slightly so that Ichigo tips his head back, baring that vulnerable expanse of skin to Shinji’s touch. 

It’s. _Maybe_ the weirdest dick-measuring contest Ichigo has ever been stuck in the middle of. And he’s been stuck in the middle of a _lot_ of weird dick-measuring contests. Byakuya and Yoruichi. Grimmjow and Cifer. Aizen and-- you get it. Granted, this one might just seem weird because, maybe for the first time in Ichigo’s memory, one or both parties aren’t fighting over the right to _kill him_. But Aoyama is still holding Ichigo’s hand on the counter, and Shinji is still clinging to Ichigo like the world’s most dangerous barnacle, and Ichigo feels a lot a bit like he’s in the middle of a period drama and a duel for his honor is going to break out at any moment. 

“And you are not an improvement,” Shinji says at Aoyama, voice bland and level, head tilting a little to one side, pressing against Ichigo’s. It’s such a gentle pressure, but somehow _that’s_ what makes Ichigo go boneless, slumping back against Shinji and trusting him to support his weight. And there’s no hesitation, no effort in the way Shinji takes Ichigo’s weight, and there’s a feeling that’s warm and soft and stuck in Ichigo’s throat.

“Yet, here we are,” Aoyama says, smug, and laces his fingers with Ichigo-- _ugh, his hand is sweaty_ \-- as he leans back against the bar. And that’s a challenge if Ichigo has ever heard one, a gauntlet thrown, and Ichigo mentally braces himself because he can’t actually remember if Shinji has ever backed down from a challenge _ever_. 

Shinji, Ichigo thinks with what few brain cells are still functioning, kisses like someone who’s had half a millenia to practice. Long, and slow, and all-consuming, and even though it feels like Shinji has stolen every bit of air from Ichigo’s lungs, Ichigo can’t imagine pulling away. And Ichigo feels a little unmoored, a little swept off his feet, but mostly. 

Cherished. Precious. _Possessed_ , when Shinji finally deepens the kiss, and Ichigo can’t help his little gasp that seems too loud in what space exists between the two of them.

They break apart slowly. Or, at least, Shinji pulls back slowly, smirking when Ichigo sways in his direction, and runs his thumb over Ichigo’s bottom lip. Slips around to stand at Ichigo’s side instead of behind him, practically propping Ichigo up against the bar, which is. Important. Ichigo isn’t sure he could stay upright without the help. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Shinji drawls, voice _dripping_ with sarcasm, as he reaches over to tip Ichigo’s head onto his shoulder. A motion that feels kinda like an excuse to get his hand on Ichigo’s throat again, but. Ichigo’s brain is still restarting, he needs a minute. “Did I interrupt something here?”

The first thing Ichigo registers is that his hand on the bar is suddenly very cold.

The next is the familiar crash of a body hitting the floor without anything to cushion it. Ichigo jolts half out of his chair before he realizes Shinji is fine. More than fine, actually. On top of Aoyama, pinning him to the floor with one hand, Hollow-tinged reiatsu so thick in the air that Ichigo can practically _taste_ it. 

Which may just be the lingering taste of Shinji on his lips but--

“You sure that’s your _ex-_ boyfriend?” the bartender asks, amused, as she cleans up mostly-empty glasses and picked-clean plates. 

“No,” Ichigo croaks, because. He can't tell for sure, because he's _pretty_ turned on at this point, but he's also _pretty sure_ that the sight of Shinji going absolutely feral is some kind of kink that Ichigo _definitely_ has.

It doesn’t take long at all before Shinji comes _prowling_ back, eyes gold and grin wild, and--

He reaches out, gentle, to brush Ichigo’s bangs out of his face. And when he cups Ichigo’s face, Ichigo can’t help but turn into the touch, pressing his lips against Shinji’s palm, eyes fluttering closed because Shinji is looking at him the same way someone might look at a precious gem, or a piece of art, or someone they’re--

“C’mon,” Shinji says, tugging Ichigo away from the bar. “Let’s get out of here before we actually get into trouble.”

Ichigo takes Shinji’s hand, and they run.

They get about two streets over before Ichigo realizes that he has no idea where they’re going. 

They’re not going to the Shōten, that’s in the other direction. And Ichigo hasn’t been staying with Isshin and the girls since the end of the the war with Yhwach-- staying in Karakura is cheaper than staying near the University, and it’s not like Ichigo has to worry about shit like _commuting time_ when Urahara has set him up with a gigai he can still shunpo in. He’s _pretty_ sure Shinji doesn’t know where he lives now, though, and.

It’s a light he never thought to see Shinji in. Not just the pale moonlight and the yellow glow of passing streetlamps, but. 

Shinji still hasn’t released his hand. Ichigo stares at where their fingers are tangled together, because it’s easier than staring at the slender slope of Shinji’s shoulders, or the curve of his-- 

They slow to a stop. Or, Shinji slows to a stop, and Ichigo makes a startled noise as he bumps into Shinji’s back. Shinji is fast, turning to slip an arm around Ichigo’s waist to steady him, and. He’s. Very warm, Ichigo realizes, and it hits him a little like a bucket of ice water down his back.

Shinji’s hand is a trail of fire as it slides up Ichigo’s back, carefully taking Ichigo by the chin to turn his face from side to side, as though _Ichigo_ were the one to get into a fight less than fifteen minutes ago. 

“You’re alright?” Shinji asks, gentle, gentle, gentle, too close and too warm, and all Ichigo can do is swallow tightly and nod as Shinji’s hand slips up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over Ichigo’s cheekbone, and his eyes are still gold-on-black, and he’s. Maybe. The most beautiful Ichigo has ever seen him.

“I'll kill _anyone_ ,” Shinji murmurs, dark and possessive and, almost, _joyous_ , “who looks at you the way i look at you.”

And Ichigo--

_Can’t--_

He just. _Can’t_ . He surges forward, clumsily smashing his mouth against Shinji’s and. It’s. Not great. Messy, and their teeth knock together painfully, but it’s also. It’s _Shinji_ , kissing back with equal ferocity, guiding it into something. Maybe no less painful, he’s _bitey_ , but. Better. Painful in a good way. _Perfect_ , in the best ways, because-- how could he be anything else?

“Take me home, Shinji,” Ichigo demands, and his voice is steady, _wrecked_ , but Shinji _shudders_ against him, and Ichigo is still trying to imagine something better.


End file.
